


Sidebars

by canis_m



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, PILF Barba, Sporadic Angst, Top Liv, canon-typical mentions of sexual assault
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 04:39:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 7,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16010471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canis_m/pseuds/canis_m
Summary: Collected Barson drabbles and short ficbits.  Individual chapters are complete works unless otherwise noted.  Theme/mood/rating varies, and there may be a crossover or two.  See Chapter 1 for an index, and I'll do my best to include appropriate warnings/tags in the chapter notes.





	1. Index

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Index will be updated when drabbles are added.

1\. Index  
2\. "Two Words" - Sequel to "Redirect" (Barsonoah).  
3\. "Law and Order: Galactic Republic Unit" - The inevitable Star Wars fusion.  
4\. "Lessons Redux" - Liv teaches yet another skill.  
5\. "Introductions" - Rafael meets some shady characters (Barsonoah).  
6\. "Truth Or" - Adventures in Truth or Dare.  
7\. "Thinking of You" - Someone's got mail.  
8\. "All Souls" - Barson and the UUs (Barsonoah).  
9\. "Untied" - Bedroom fashion.  
10\. "Headlines" - Supreme Court injustice.  
11\. "Rainy Day" - A little sick.  
12\. "Ghost" - A little haunted. Make that a lot.  
13\. "Dog Whisper" - Extending the family, part 1 (Barsonoah + Rollins).  
14\. "Like I Win When I Lose" - Extending the family, part 2 (Barsonoah).  
15\. "Getaway Car" - A four-wheeled blast from the past.  
16\. "Sweater Weather" - A birthday evening.  
17\. "Snow Day" - A neighbors AU (Barsonoah).  
18\. "Election Night" - Waiting on returns.  
19\. "Santa's Little Elf" - Rafael takes some advice.  
20\. "Last of the Glass" - Noah experiments (Barsonoah).  
21\. "Lucky" - Post-pegging bliss. Rated M.  
22\. "Just Dessert" - Post-holiday pie.  
23\. "Masculine Energy" - For Peter Stone, eavesdropping doesn't pay. Rated M. 


	2. "Two Words"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A triple drabble for thebarsondaily prompt: _photograph_. This follows on my fic “Redirect,” post-S19:E13. Rated T, no warnings.

Once a week, she’d said. Two words. 

The first message came exactly seven days after he’d left. Days Olivia spent feigning normalcy, stanching worry, doing her level best not to dwell. Avoiding the DA’s office and the repellent interloper within. 

Of the squad, only Rollins had the stones to ask if she’d heard anything, five days in. There’d been no news of a plane going down en route to Miami, so Olivia assumed he’d safely arrived. She shook her head. 

She was alone in her office when the text came. Her heart stuttered as she unlocked her phone.

The attached photo showed a beach towel, solid black except for the white outline of a body. Like a chalk outline at a crime scene. Behind the crime scene towel others lay folded, as if on a shelf at a store.

The text read: _Towel found_

Olivia blinked, then blinked harder. She put the phone down and covered her mouth with her hand. 

When she’d recovered, at least a little, she texted back: _Good work._

Rafael continued to observe the terms of his release to the letter. The second week brought another photo and text. The photo was of an ice sculpture: a swordfish leaping on the crest of a translucent wave. Its background suggested the interior of a restaurant or bar.

The text read: _Cool stuff_

Olivia groaned, but diligently showed the photo to Noah that night. "Look what Uncle Rafa sent.“

To Noah’s mind the ice swordfish rated as certifiably cool. "How’d they make it?”

“An artist carved it. Took a big block of ice and cut it into that shape.”

“Where was it?”

“Good question. He’s being very mysterious. Somewhere in Miami, I guess.”

After putting Noah to bed, she texted back two words of her own. 

_Smart ass._


	3. "Law and Order: Galactic Republic Unit"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barson IN SPACE, i.e. the inevitable Star Wars fusion. Rated T. Tagged: choking.

“Senator,” said Carmen through the comlink, “the Jedi’s here.”

Barba thanked her and swiveled his chair toward the entrance to his chambers. Time to meet his new babysitter with a laser sword. Between the threats against his person and his upcoming tour off-planet, there was no denying the need for a security detail; he supposed he should be grateful the Council had seen fit to stick him with one of their own, instead of some blunt-jawed pair of goons with blasters. Jedi were at least competent, generally speaking. If you were willing to overlook the religious fanaticism and the style sense of a throw rug from Kashyyyk.

The door slid open. The Jedi strode in, sable robe skimming her sleek black boots. She was tall, brown-haired, unadorned but for a small pendant that glinted above the neckline of her tunic. Attractive enough, Barba supposed, if not really compelling—but she did have the air: that indefinable Jedi serenity. He rose smoothly and came around to the front of his desk. 

“Knight Rollins,” he said with a smile.

Her lips quirked as she shook his hand. “Rollins was called away. I’ll be taking charge of your personal security in her place.” Her grip was calloused and firm. “Liv Benson.”

Tamping down irritation, Barba drew back. He’d done his homework on the other knight; this one was an unknown quantity. “I see. And the Council didn’t see fit to inform me of this because?”

Her eyebrows rose, if only slightly. "I’m informing you now. I can assure you, we’re taking your situation very seriously.“

That was the other thing about Jedi: they were annoyingly hard to get a rise out of. Barba returned to his desk. He ran a hand over the arched back of his chair, making no move to sit in it. Benson stood unruffled, returning his scrutiny with a mild, impregnable gaze.

"How do I know you’re who you say you are?” he asked.

She blinked once. "Excuse me?“

"There was no communication about a change in personnel. For all I know you could be an impostor.” Bantha spew, of course. She was plainly a Jedi. He favored her with a disobliging smile. "I’ve received death threats, you understand. I can’t be too careful.“

Benson paced a few steps in front of his desk, hands on her hips. "You want to see my credentials. Okay, sure.”

She lifted her hand. He barely had time to register that the saber hilt hung from her belt seemed especially large—were they always that big?—when an unseen force yanked him off his feet. The force—no, the _Force_ held him in the air, just high enough that his toes dangled inches from the floor. It was like being trapped in an enormous fist, one that seemed to have him by the throat. His feet swung, twitching. He struggled to breathe.

Benson opened her hand with a flick. He dropped to the floor, staggered and wheezing. She pulled a comlink from her belt, almost boredly, and tapped it twice.

“Send me your schedule and itinerary,” she said. "I’m ready for departure when you are.“

She turned to leave. Barba straightened, palming shakily over his lapels. He lifted his chin and cleared his throat.

"Carmen can get you those. I, ah, look forward to working with you, Knight Benson.”

She paused for a second in the doorway. Her robes swayed beautifully at her heels. 

“I go by Liv,” she said. "And it’s Master.“


	4. "Lessons Redux"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Triple drabble for thebarsondaily weekly prompt: _shoot._ Rated T, no warnings.

Clouds scudded over the training complex at Rodman’s Neck. Gunfire stuttered from a nearby range, but they had this one all to themselves. It was a lucky stroke; the trainee was nervy. He kept raising objections, even as Olivia corrected his grip on her Glock.

“I’m never going to carry one.”

“You now live in a household where a firearm is present. You need to know how to handle it safely.”

“‘Handle’ as in know how to _avoid_ shooting things.“ Rafael squinted at the target. "Are they all so…people-shaped?”

Olivia maneuvered behind him. "Feet at shoulder width. Arms up.“ He shifted jerkily, obeying. She ran her hands along his arms, feeling tension in him under the sweater’s soft wool. Even with ear protection, he twitched at another barrage from next door. “Don’t lock your elbows. Lean in.” 

Rafael approximated the Isosceles stance. She adjusted it gently, smoothing his shoulders when they tended to hunch. 

“Now, put the drop in the bucket,” she said. "Just like I showed you.“

"You say that to all the boys,” he muttered.

Olivia nudged her cheek against his earmuff. "Think I give private lessons to all the boys?“ 

"Fond as I am of flattery, it’s not helping.”

“No?” She stepped back. "Hold steady and squeeze.“

"Steady and—”

His arms quavered. Strain and reluctance tightened his jaw. But she couldn’t think less of him for the aversion; if anything, she thought more. 

“Imagine it’s a rabid dog,” she said. "On its last legs, in pain. And it’s coming to bite Noah.“

Rafael drew a labored breath, then another. Screwing up his face, he fired. He flinched at both the crack of the shot and the recoil. When he lowered the gun and exhaled, wild-eyed, Olivia laid a warm hand on the small of his back.


	5. "Introductions"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Double drabble for thebarsondaily weekly prompt: _introduce_. Rated G, no warnings.

“This is Chaser.” A lop-eared dog. “And Flippy.” A fuzzy white seal pup. "And Gargar." A tyrannosaur with jaws agape. "‘Cause he says _gaaarrr._ " Tucking his arms to his chest, Noah clawed with enthusiasm.

"And I know Eddie already,” said Rafael, with a nod for the elephant on the bed.

Noah giggled. “You made a rhyme.”

Rafael raised his eyebrows. "Is that a crime?“ Another giggle. "How many of these guys have criminal records?” When Noah blinked, Rafael rephrased. “How many have been to jail?”

“Just Eddie. But probably Gargar should be in jail. He destroys buildings.”

“And only one of them can come with us to the park?” The rule was Olivia’s; Rafael wasn’t about to contravene it. Especially not when she was leaning in the doorway, waiting on the consultation’s result.

“Yeah.”

Rafael rose from his crouch. "If I were you, I’d reward good behavior. Unless you think we’ll need to destroy buildings. In that case, the _T. rex_ is your man.“

Noah tipped his head. "Gargar’s too big for my backpack. I’ll bring Chaser this time.” He scooped up the plush dog and grasped Rafael’s hand. "All ready!“

Olivia was smiling. "Let’s get our coats,” she said.


	6. "Truth Or"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Double drabble for thebarsondaily prompt: _game_. Rated M. Warning for mention of teen sexual activity.

“Dare,” said Rafael.

Olivia eyed him over her wine glass. “I dare you to pick Truth instead.”

“That’s cheating. At the very least it’s contrary to the spirit of the game.”

“So is always picking Dare.”

“Fine. Truth, then.”

“Your first time,” Olivia said, after deliberation. “When and who.”

“First time in what sense?”

“Whatever qualifies as ‘sex’ in your mind.” When his mouth twisted, she said, “Was it what’s-her-name in eleventh grade? The one you would’ve let get away with murder?”

“Lauren Sullivan?” He snorted. “Surprised you remember that.”

“I remember because I was surprised it was a girl.”

“Why do you think I mentioned her? Smooth on my part, wouldn’t you say? But no. Lauren friendzoned me. To the nth degree.”

“Poor Rafa.”

He was quiet for a while, cradling his scotch. Long enough for her to regret the question.

“Alex,” he said at last, staring at nothing. “It was Alex. We were freshmen. It never meant to him what it did to me.” He emptied the glass. “Used to be an okay memory. Before.”

An ache rose in Olivia’s chest. “Poor Rafa,” she whispered, in an altogether different tone, and reached to gather him in.


	7. "Thinking of You"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Triple drabble for thebarsondaily weekly prompt: _grudge._ Rated T, no warnings.

The greeting card addressed to Rafael had a pretty gold envelope, and no return address. Olivia passed it to him and resumed sorting. She’d winnowed the real mail from the junk before she noticed he’d opened the card and gone still.

“What is it?” 

He turned away from her, eyes closing. Shaking his head.

Noah was in his bedroom; Olivia lowered her voice. "Rafa?“

After an unwilling breath Rafael slid the card across the table. The enclosed photo showed two girls, both bundled in coats, running toward a prison gate. The note read:

_Thinking of you and yours, Rafael._

_Yelina_

Olivia set the card down, wishing she could set it on fire. "Has she sent things like this before?”

“Not that I received.”

So she’d caught wind somehow of Rafael’s change of address. Rafael bent his head, the way he did when convicting himself of some real or imagined failing. The set of his shoulders deflected touch.

Olivia tried reason instead. "Would it be better for them to have a father like that at home?“

He returned card to envelope and fingered its corners, pressing his thumb to the point. "He must’ve been good to them. She wouldn’t have stayed if he weren’t.”

“What about the other women, the other girls. The ones he would’ve preyed on.”

“I don’t know. We can’t _know. _Maybe he would’ve stopped.”__

__He sounded as if he knew otherwise. Olivia studied him. She nodded at the card._ _

__“Why don’t you let me hold onto that.”_ _

__His brow furrowed. "And do what with it?“_ _

__"What are you gonna do with it if you keep it?”_ _

__Rafael started to speak, then stopped. He looked at her wordlessly. His frown folded in on itself. He wavered, then exhaled, then let her take the damned thing from his hand._ _


	8. "All Souls"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Double drabble for thebarsondaily weekly prompt: _church_. Rated T.

The sermon’s theme was climate change. After the service came a social hour downstairs. Noah darted between tables with a newfound friend from the children’s group. Rafael availed himself of coffee and cookies, then returned to Olivia’s side.

“They have a sexuality education program for K through 12,” she said, skimming the brochure.

“So do some monsignori.” Rafael stuffed an entire gingersnap into his mouth. "The felonious kind.“

Olivia grimaced, remembering cases past. But the Catholic Church was his turf to disparage, not hers. "We don’t have to come every week, I just…”

“Want Noah to be part of a community. I know.” He offered her a cookie.

She broke off half. "How’s the coffee?“

"Edifying.”

“Well, that’s something.” She appropriated the cup for a sip. "Just sampling,“ she said, when Rafael gave her the expected look. She put on a more public smile as the Director of Congregational Life appeared.

"Olivia, good to see you again! And you brought a guest?”

“My partner, Rafael Barba.”

“Wonderful. Welcome to you both. If you have any questions…”

Olivia glanced at Rafael, then at Noah, who came dashing up to hug their knees. He was beaming.

“I think we’re good,” she said.


	9. "Untied"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A triple drabble that may or may not be a sequel to my fic "Favor." Rated M. Tags: very light bondage/sensory play.

Olivia sat back on the bed. She swallowed a snigger. Rafael cocked his head, which only made matters worse, because the tail end of the necktie she'd just tied over his eyes flopped past his cheek, like the ear of an alert (if droopy) hound.

It didn't help that the tie was one of his more adventurous plaids. Maybe that accounted for its retirement, but as sensual accessories went....

She tried adjusting it. Still ridiculous. "You had to pick plaid," she said. 

"What's wrong with it?" 

"Nothing, it's...colorful." 

"You think it's not sexy." He sounded aggrieved.

"It's...plaid," she said.

Rafael sighed. He undid the makeshift blindfold—if only so she'd witness his eye-roll—and waved her toward his closet with an imperious hand. "Fine. You pick."

Olivia crawled off the bed. "I don't wanna use one you're still planning to wear to work."

"Retirees are on the far right."

"The right? They'd be better off on the left." 

She opened the closet and found the hanger of candidates. It surprised her how many she recognized, even those he hadn't worn for years. There was one: pale pink, delicately textured. Pulling it free, she lifted it and smiled.

"How about this?"

Rafael presented himself at the edge of the bed, eyes closed. Olivia paused to stroke his head with affection, spreading her fingers to card through the hair around his ears, before blindfolding him again.

The pale pink tie was—well, _pretty_ was the word. She liked the look of it against his flushed skin. She sidled the knot to the side of his head, so he’d be able to lean or rest more comfortably. On a pillow, say. Or on her lap.

Rafael tilted his face from side to side, inviting appraisal. "Now do I pass muster?"

"You'll do," Olivia said.


	10. "Headlines"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Double drabble for thebarsondaily prompt: _tragedy._ Includes canon-typical mentions of sexual assaults.

The hearings ran all day on the squad room TV. It was late when Olivia texted Rafael grimly: _I need a drink._

_You and me both,_ he sent back.

They met at the Hamilton, south of campus, on the edge of Morningside Heights. Bottle after bottle of whiskey gleamed on shelves behind the bar. Olivia shifted Rafael’s sport coat—dark brown, professorial—from the bar stool beside him. 

It was no place for wine. "I’ll have what he’s having,“ she told the bartender. Rafael was hunched over his glass. "You watched?”

“Cancelled class. Made it an assignment.”

“What did you think?”

“She’s a dream witness, and he lied under oath. Multiple times.” He shook his head darkly. "Reporter from the _Post_ called me for a interview.”

“A former sex crimes prosecutor’s take?”

He nodded. "You had time to watch?“

"In the morning, some. Not in the afternoon. After her testimony, three women came in to disclose.” 

A glint of light returned to Rafael’s eyes. "Anything you can pursue?“

"Two were assaults from ten, fifteen years ago. Statute of limitations has expired. The third—” Olivia reached for her glass and drank, relishing the burn. "The third we can go after. And we will.“


	11. "Rainy Day"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Triple drabble for thebarsondaily prompt: _threat._ Rated T, no warnings.

Olivia hung her slicked trenchcoat in Rafael’s hall closet. Only a short dash from the car to the building’s lobby, and her pant legs were drenched from the shins. The torrent was easing—now that she was safely inside—but rain still glossed the apartment windows. Rafael looked up from the sofa as she set a Jamba Juice on the table by his knee.

“You shouldn’t have,” he said.

“Special delivery.” She sat down beside him, surveying the coffee table scene: case files, legal pad, empty tumbler. No sign of cough drops or tissues. She raised an eyebrow at the glass. 

“Medicinal purposes,” said Rafael. He cleared his throat, reached for the smoothie, and clamped his mouth on the straw.

“This is what, day six?”

“Seven.”

“I think the threat of contagion has passed.”

“I was afraid it might be flu, I didn’t want—”

“I know.” Olivia leaned against his shoulder. "Noah’s been worried. He made you a card.“ She watched wistfulness soften Rafael’s tired face. "Unfortunately, I forgot to put it in my bag, so if you want to see it you’ll just have to come home with me.”

Rafael looked amused. Fitting the straw into the crook of his mouth, he slurped audibly. "Devious as always.“

"If you’re well enough to go back to work, you’re well enough to watch Netflix on my couch under a blanket. Come on.” She patted his thigh. "Pack up.“

He murmured assent, but didn’t budge. He bent his face to the damp hair on her shoulder, tucking his nose among the strands. His arm and thigh pressed warmly against her. It had only been days since they’d touched. It felt longer. Olivia let her hand settle where she’d patted, then gently squeezed. A sigh wavered out of him.

"In a minute,” he said.


	12. "Ghosts"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble for thebarsondaily prompt: _haunted_. Rated M for upsetting things a la “Undiscovered Country.”

The baby fought for air. The mask that was supposed to breathe for him wasn’t. A choked sound clogged the room. Rafael could hear it, despite the incessant wail of the machines. He looked down and found his hand on the cord, the cord plugged into nothing. 

Red sirens blared. A mother’s voice was speaking, calling a name. The baby’s eyes were an old man’s eyes as he gagged behind the mask.

The machines screamed. 

His arm struck something solid as he thrashed. 

*

Olivia had a bruise in the morning. Rafael couldn’t look. 

“I’ll take the couch tonight,” he said.


	13. "Dog Whisper"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Triple drabble for thebarsondaily prompt: _trick._ Set nebulously in PILF future. Rated G.

Sunshine filtered through autumn leaves in Central Park. Noah and Jesse were crouched on the grass, trying to teach Frannie a new trick.

“She’s gonna be sick from all those treats,” said Rollins, but she made no move to halt the proceedings. "Surprised Noah hasn’t started lobbying for a puppy.“

"Oh, he has,” Olivia said. She glanced sideways darkly. "Someone’s been aiding and abetting.“

Rafael looked unabashed. He popped a peanut into his mouth from the bag of Planters, not to be outdone by Frannie when it came to snacks.

"Really? Wouldn’t have picked you for a dog person,” said Rollins to Rafael.

“I like dogs,” said Rafael, squinting. "Everyone likes dogs.“

"Not cat people,” said Rollins, in a tone that implied exactly what cat people were like.

Rafael refused to be baited. "Anyway, I didn’t ‘abet.' I suggested he do thorough research on breeds if he wanted to bolster his case.“

"And did he?”

Olivia’s smile was half grimace. "I now know more about beagles than I ever wanted to know.“

"Beagles are cute,” murmured Rafael.

“Who’s going to walk it?” asked Olivia, not for the first time. Rafael opened his mouth. She cut him off before he could speak. "On a day like today, sure.“ She waved at the beatific sky. "What about in winter, when I’m on a case, you’re swamped with grading, Noah has a cold, and it’s five below?”

Rafael shut his mouth again, then ate another peanut.

Rollins crinkled her nose. "Y'all are cute,“ she said, to Olivia’s chagrin. "I can recommend a good dog walker,” she added.

Just then Noah crowed in triumph. "She did it! Watch! Frannie, high five!“

They all observed the demonstration. "Got a budding Cesar Millan on your hands,” said Rollins, and Olivia’s gut sank in premonition of defeat.


	14. "Like I Win When I Lose"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For K.F., a drabble request, sequel to the previous ("Dog Whisper"). Likewise rated G.

They made the drive to New Jersey on a Saturday. Noah vibrated in the back seat, next to the crate with its plush blanket and collapsible water dish, for the full hour and fifteen minutes.

“You understand he’s not a _puppy_ puppy, right, Noah?” Olivia said. They’d filled out the adoption application together, all three of them, huddled around the laptop at the kitchen table, but she wanted to be sure Noah’s expectations were in line. "He’s a little older than that.“

"More of a teenager in dog years,” said Rafael.

Noah rolled his eyes in the rear-view mirror. He must be getting it from Rafael, Olivia thought; he sure wasn’t getting it from her. 

“I know! I saw the pictures.”

A yipped chorus greeted them at the front door of the foster home in Blairstown. The woman who answered waded through a small pack of knee-high tail-waggers and grinned.

“You must be the Bensons,” she said. Olivia glanced at Rafael, just for a second, but he offered no correction. If anything he looked smugly content. “Glad you could make it. Come on in. Buster’s excited to meet you.”

13-inch beagle mix Buster was, to no one’s surprise, even less resistible in person than in photos. Noah and Rafael sat on the floor with him, making kissy faces—both of them—and getting sloppy, enthusiastic licks. Olivia shook her head as she filled out the paperwork.

“Can’t believe I’m about to be outnumbered three to one in my own home.”

Their host blinked. "If you’d rather wait for a female…“

Olivia glanced at the trio on the floor. Three pairs of puppy eyes gazed up at her, full of soul: man, boy, and genuine dog. Shaking her head again, she reached for her checkbook.

"No, I think he’s the one,” she said.


	15. "Getaway Car"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drabble request for theoofoof. No warnings, just summer fun.

Rafael was waiting by the curb, summer sport coat tucked under his arm, overnight bag and briefcase at his feet. When Olivia pulled up in the black Mustang with the top down, it took him a second to clue in that his ride had arrived. 

He stared. He lowered his phone with slow incredulity. Olivia draped her arm over the side of the car, eyebrows cocked above her sunglasses. 

“You gonna get in?”

His mouth pulled sideways. He picked up his bags and swanned to the passenger side, ogling the car’s lines as he went. He opened the door and slid in. A passerby—maybe a student—wolf whistled good-naturedly. 

“Nice ride!" 

Olivia flicked an acknowledging wave, as if wolf whistles were no less than their due. Rafael tossed his bags next to hers in the back. 

"So, you’ve been failing to disclose this midlife crisis for how long?” he said. 

Olivia tapped the steering wheel with her thumb. "Believe it or not, this car and I have quite a history.“ She waited as he buckled in, then put the Mustang in drive and pulled out. "Few years before I met you, I’d bought it, fixed it up, lots of elbow grease. It subsequently became evidence in a murder investigation.” She paused for effect. "Investigating me.“

He knew the story in outline, not in detail. Kicking back, he loosened his tie. "This I’ve got to hear.”

“We’ll get to that. Anyway, I sold the car. Even leaving aside the whole…incident, I barely ever took it out of the garage. Two weeks ago, the guy I sold it to calls me. Says he’s not able to keep it, and would I be interested in buying it back?” She turned right onto 125th. "I might still resell it. But I couldn’t resist taking it for one more spin.“ The corner of her eye caught Rafael’s. "Not when there’s somebody I really wanted to take for a ride.”

He stopped trying to moderate his shit-eating grin. "And where are we going? Or is that a surprise?“

They were headed for Fire Island and its five miles of beach, but it wouldn’t hurt to keep him guessing a little longer. "You packed your swim trunks, right?”

“As directed.”

“That’s all you need to know,” she said.

At the next stoplight she straightened her ponytail, then adjusted the straps of her bright pink tank. The high sun warmed her bare arms and shoulders. Rafael tugged off his tie and reached for the radio dial.

“This thing work?”

“You bet it does.”

He tuned to WKCR. A bossa nova cover of Chicago purled from the speakers. He couldn’t carry a tune to save his life, but before long he was crooning, _baby please don’t go,_ under his breath as they cruised toward Harlem River Drive. 

Olivia kept one eye on traffic, the other on the light in his face. Having her hands on the wheel, foot on the gas, him lounging in the seat beside her—it all felt just as good as she’d thought it would. 

They had the whole weekend ahead of them. “Turn that up,” she told him, and he did.


	16. "Sweater Weather"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drabble request for rosehips, rated T. Set nebulously in the same universe as my fic "Redirect."

“First thing we do, let’s get a new sofa,” murmured Rafael.

They were sprawled on the current one, listening to the rain, pretending the coffee table was an ottoman. By their feet sat Rafael’s opened presents: a bottle of Glenlivet, a bar of good chocolate, the Macy’s box that had housed a sweater in hunter green. 

Olivia had managed to forgo cable knit, despite temptation. He preferred plain cashmere, both for luxury and for unabated softness, the kind that lured her fingers to stroke. She’d made him try on the sweater after he opened the box. Now her whole hand was infiltrating it, sidling up his chest between it and the t-shirt underneath.

“You know, I’m no Shakespeare buff, but I’m pretty sure that’s not how the quote goes,” she said. Her fingers traced lazy circles over his pectoral muscles. “What’s wrong with my sofa?”

He looked good in green, with his eyes that were part green and full of other colors. He should wear green more often. He should wear this specific green all the time. His eyes were dark in the room’s dimness, watching her, crinkling around the corners.

“It’s not hospitable for sleeping. That night before I left? I think I slipped a disc.”

Olivia’s fingers curled at the unwanted reminder, catching in his undershirt to hold him fast. He was here. He wasn’t going anywhere. Noah was at Aunt Amanda’s, and they had the night to themselves. 

“I don’t think sleeping on the sofa is something you need to worry about,” she said. 

He wasn’t done making his case. "If we had a bigger sofa, we could do more things on it.“ 

He moved to demonstrate one of the _things_. Olivia seconded the motion. Hooking a leg, she crawled on top of him to straddle his lap. She spread her hands and raked them down the green front of the sweater, down and up again and down. The rain was coming harder now, heavy with night. He was wearing what she’d given him. He’d eat and drink what she gave him, and stay, and stay, and never go away again.


	17. "Snow Day"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one expects the Midwestern neighbors AU! Request ficbit for xphile10, rated G.

Eight inches overnight, and more on the way: the forecast said ten to fifteen. School was cancelled. The police department stayed open, of course, no matter the weather, but when the only single mom on the force asked for personal time, Captain Cragen hadn’t batted an eye. Olivia had barely finished making buttered toast for breakfast when Noah started bouncing at the table, clamoring to get outside. 

“You wanna build a snowman while Mommy shovels?” she asked, and Noah whooped.

They suited up: snow pants, snow boots, puffy coats and thick, lined gloves. Olivia tugged Noah’s hat down over his ears, pulled up his hood, and shepherded him out the front door.

The cold struck their faces so hard they grinned at each other. Noah dashed into the yard and scooped up an armful of snow, flinging it wildly into the air. Fat flakes were still drifting earthward, idly for the moment, but Olivia knew the lull wouldn’t last. If nothing else, she’d get the driveway clear for now.

Even without a snow blower, she made short work of it, shoveling up a sweat in her down coat. When the drive was cleared, she stopped for a breather, hand propped on the shovel’s handle. Her breath puffed clouds in the flake-scattered air. She eyed the neighbor’s driveway with consideration.

There was no sign of the man himself, an attorney who’d moved from out East to take a job at a firm downtown. Something about family in the area, a mom or a grandma in declining health. Olivia had spoken to him directly only a handful of times. He seemed vaguely aloof on the best of days, overdressed in fancy suits, prim as a fussy cat. From what Olivia could tell, based on his pinched face every time she’d sighted him since December hit, he truly, deeply hated the cold. 

Hefting her shovel, she crossed the yard into the neighboring drive.

She’d cleared a path to his front porch, and was starting on the porch itself when the door opened. Mr. Barba poked his head out. He wore a jacket over a sweater over a collared shirt, and looked like he regretted not wearing more.

His nostrils flared, turning violently pink. "Excuse me, what are you doing?“

Olivia raised her eyebrows. "Shoveling,” she said.

“Okay, but whyyy would you—” He squinted, visibly appalled at the snow's brightness. And quantity. Appalled and affronted. "I have a snow removal service for that.“

Olivia glanced up and down the driveway, then at the empty street. Even the city plows hadn’t come through yet. 

"Well, they have yet to show up,” she observed, “and I’m here. I was doing mine anyway.”

“Mommy, look!" 

Noah was flailing both arms for attention. In the front yard he’d rolled a snowball so big it would no longer budge. The snowman was fixing to be abominable in scope. 

"Looks great, sweetie,” Olivia called. She turned back to Mr. Barba, who was hovering in the doorway, shrinking—shrinking further, rather—at the influx of cold air. It didn’t help that he was short to begin with. "Just trying to be neighborly,“ she said.

He looked flustered—less at the fact that a woman was shoveling his driveway, she thought, than that she was doing it without getting paid. But his "Thank you” sounded genuine enough. He squinted harder. "Do you, um.” He gestured at Olivia, at the open door. "Do you want some coffee?“

The flushed ears weren’t a bad look, Olivia decided. The pink nose maybe less so—shades of Rudolph the reindeer—but still, it was kind of cute. She waved across the yard at her son.

"Noah, put the snowman on hold a minute and come play in Mr. Barba’s yard, okay? Where Mommy can see you.” She watched to make sure Noah obeyed, then stepped onto the porch. 

“I’d love some,” she said, and Mr. Barba straightened, blinking, as if he hadn’t really expected a yes. "Let me clear this off, and I’ll be right in.“


	18. "Election Night"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A too-topical ficbit for E., rated M for the midterms and for manhandling. (Only a bit.)

“Wake me up if the House flips,” Rafael said, and buried his face in the cushion.

He was belly-down on the sofa, arm hanging limply over the side. Olivia sat on the floor, bowl of popcorn on her knees. The reading lamp and CNN cast the only light in the apartment. They’d been watching the coverage, volume on low, since Noah’s bedtime hours before.

Setting the popcorn bowl aside, she reached backward to pat Rafael. “Go to bed,” she told him.

What with the angle, her hand happened to land just shy of his ass. She shifted it and patted more squarely, with a lingering caress.

He grunted without lifting his head. "Rain check. Not in the mood.“

"Wow. You sure know how to let a girl down easy.”

“At a time like this? Ask me again after the death throes of the Republic.”

He’d drunk too much wine—in the course of trying to keep her from overdoing it—and was probably having heartburn on top of election angst. Olivia rubbed his rear end soothingly. He turned his head and cracked an eyelid to peer at her.

“You’re not serious, are you?”

“No, it’s just so big, it’s like.” She gave one ass-cheek a hearty squeeze. “Out there.”

“Oh my God, Becky,” said Rafael in strangled tones. He rolled onto his side, smiling now, if only in pain. "Explain to me how you know that song?“

"Explain to me how you do.”

“It played at parties. I was an undergrad. What’s your excuse?”

“I was only a year old when _Abbey Road_ came out, and I still know every word on the album.”

He eyed her dubiously. "Relevance?“ When she pretended innocence, his look darkened. "Sir Mix-A-Lot is hardly _Abbey Road.”_

“Sometimes people just know lyrics. Regardless of vintage.”

“Uh-huh.” Propping up on one elbow, he turned back to the TV. Olivia flipped to the local news for an update on the Attorney General’s race. They both relaxed a little at the numbers, but Rafael set his jaw again.

“Too soon to let our guard down,” he said.

Olivia studied his profile, the wary resolution in it. "Regretting you decided not to run for State Assembly?“

"We both know I’m not electable.” _After what I did_ went unsaid.

“We don’t, actually. Since we didn’t find out.”

Rafael looked away, then closed his eyes.

“Go to bed,” Olivia said again. “You turn into a cynic when you’re overtired. Like a Gremlin after midnight.”

He swung into a sitting position, then slumped back down as if collapsing under his own weight, facing her shoulders. He buried his nose in her hair.

“I’ll go to bed if you will.”

She leaned into him. "Thought you weren’t in the mood.“

His voice was muffled. "Just because I’m not up for hanky panky, it doesn’t mean I wanna be left to my cynical self.”

Olivia considered, if only for an instant, how the night would’ve gone if he hadn’t been there. Herself on the couch with the bottle, watching the numbers roll in. Guarding the sleep of a boy too young to understand their import. Staying up too late and going to bed too tired, alone.

She turned off the TV. They’d done what they could. What was going to happen would happen, and they’d face it in the morning, shoulder to shoulder.

She reached for Rafael, setting her forehead gently against the furrows in his.


	19. "Santa's Little Elf"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request ficbit for motherbearof03, rated T.

“—And I’ve barely even started my Christmas shopping, I’m so behind.” His mother’s hand on her coffee cup gave a small, despairing flail. "What are you getting Olivia?“

Rafael was prepared for this, had been for weeks, well in advance of today’s lunch date. "For the whole family, tickets to _Frozen_. For the grown-ups, tickets to _Bernhardt/Hamlet,_ and—” he smoothed his napkin with a flourish “—a night at the Royalton Hotel.”

“Very nice,” his mother said. "If you need me to watch Noah, just let me know.“ She stirred another packet of sugar into her coffee. "What else?”

Rafael blinked. "Some things for her stocking. A book she wanted.“ His mother looked unimpressed. He started to flounder. "Bottle of wine?" 

"Rafi. Get her something that’ll last. Think mineral.”

He managed not to roll his eyes at that, if only just. "She doesn't—"

“What. Doesn’t wear jewelry? Yes she does, I’ve seen her necklaces. Earrings too. Those little bluish-green ones, those are pretty. Understated. Make sure you go for understated, not bling.”

“Of course I wouldn’t get her _bling,_ ” he said, wounded. "And yes, she does wear jewelry—"

“But what. So she’s not a material girl, I know that. But if you think she wouldn’t like it, you’re dead wrong. Listen to your mother on this.” Her look turned pointed. "You want her to keep wearing baubles from some other man?“ 

It struck Rafael then, with a feeling like a sudden drop in temperature, that the provenance of everything in Olivia’s (modest, tasteful) jewelry box was opaque to him. Those necklaces she wore at her throat, against her skin—had any of them been gifts from Tucker? From—Dios no lo quiera— _Brian Cassidy?_ From some other former paramour whose name he didn’t know?

It was a ridiculous thing to wonder. If Liv had trinkets from old boyfriends and wanted to wear them, that was her business. And prerogative. Maybe she liked their aesthetics. Maybe she liked cradling them between her fingertips and mistily remembering their givers, the way their rough-hewn hands had closed the clasp at her neck—

Rafael caught himself, disconcerted. His mother eyed him, lifting her cup for a too-knowing sip.

* 

That night, when he and Olivia were lazing on the sofa, watching the ten o'clock news, Rafael shifted in her arms. He fingered her small gold pendant, tracing its mandala shape. 

"You used to have another one,” he murmured. "The one you gave to Ariel Thornhill." 

Olivia lowered her chin to look down. "Thought she needed it more than I did.” 

“You never replaced it?” He pitched his voice to drowsy idleness, free of intent. “You wore it all the time.” 

“Oh, you were paying attention?” She toyed at his hair, teasing strands apart from one another. He wanted to tell her he’d always paid attention, always, from the very start—but he was on a mission, and didn’t dare interrupt. "Guess I felt okay about letting it go. I don’t even know if the shop’s still around. It was some place in Little Italy." 

Later, when she got up to cork the bottle, Rafael snaked a stealthy hand toward his phone. He might not be the resident detective, but her man Friday was no slouch. 


	20. "Last of the Glass"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Triple drabble for thebarsondaily weekly prompt: _leftovers_. Rated T.

Olivia and Rafael were paging through menus, trying to choose between Chinese and Thai, when Noah blew a furious raspberry. They looked up to see him by the coffee table, nose wrinkled, face pinched. 

Clutching Rafael’s scotch glass in his hands.

“Noah!”

Olivia was on the scene before Rafael could blink. She snatched the now-empty tumbler away. "Sweetie, that’s Uncle Rafa’s drink, not yours! You know that.“

Noah stuck out his tongue, not at his mother but at the foulness of 86 proof, and wiped his mouth with his fist. "I just wanted to try it.” He looked more grossed out than contrite. "You _said_ I should try things.“

Stepping in, Rafael extracted the glass from Olivia’s grip. "There was barely a sip left,” he murmured. He held up the glass gravely in front of Noah. "Grown-ups only, amigo. Until you turn twenty-one, it’s against the law. You could be charged with possession.“

Noah’s eyes widened. "I spit it out,” he said, in a six-year-old’s version of _I didn’t inhale._ He looked back and forth between them. "Am I gonna go to jail?“

"No,” said Olivia, “but now that you know how gross it is, you won’t try it again, right?”

“No way. Yuck!”

He scurried down the hall to the bathroom, presumably to rinse out his mouth. Rafael looked at Olivia.

“In his defense, it was left unattended.” He tilted the glass ruefully in his hand. “Maybe I should stop modeling this particular behavior.”

She shook her head. "He’s never tried that with my wine. Not for lack of opportunity. One time he sniffed it. Said it smelled like grape juice and old shoes.“

"Leather on the nose?" Returning the glass to the kitchen, Rafael put the scotch bottle away, out of sight. "Sounds like a deterrent to me.”


	21. "Lucky"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Double drabble for thebarsondaily weekly prompt: _gratitude_. Rated M for post-pegging bliss.

She slid it out of him. Rafael lay gasping, cheek mashed in a pillow smeared with drool. The drool was his, and the towel under him was sodden, too, and maybe in a minute he’d roll off it but for now he couldn’t move except to quiver, like a Jello mold in the shape of a fortunate man. Aftershocks pulsed through him, rolling in waves to the brink of his skin. It was always different this way, when he was lucky enough to get to take it, when Liv was in a mood to provide—not a focused jet but a broad, hot outpouring through the depths of him. Every nerve in his body shivered and twanged.

He tried to speak—okay, to mumble—and failed.

Liv touched his thigh: a gentle warmth, affirming. Dimly he heard her shifting, shimmying the harness off, padding to the bathroom. A hush of water from the tap. Then the mattress dipped with her weight again, and her body eased down beside him, careful not to touch too soon.

Rafael licked his lips, and tried again. "Fugck,“ he croaked.

She didn’t even look smug this time, just _mission accomplished_ satisfied, and purely fond. 

"You’re welcome,” she said.


	22. "Just Dessert"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Double drabble for thebarsondaily weekly prompt: _pie._ Rated T for teasing.

Olivia put her chin in her hand, elbow on the table. “Thought you said pie wasn’t your favorite.”

“It isn’t,” said Rafael, as he shoveled down another forkful of bourbon pecan. Rollins had brought it into the precinct—a family favorite from Georgia, she’d said. At the end of the day there’d been one piece left, which Olivia had commandeered. Rafael’s eyes glinted. “Not this kind of pie, anyway.”

It took a second to click. Then she lowered her voice and leaned, snagging the fork from his hand.

“Didn’t anyone teach you not to talk filthy with your mouth full?”

The answer, of course, was obvious. He talked filthy with his mouth full all the time. Olivia scooped the stolen bite between her lips, and its sugared, boozy sweetness assailed her—too sweet, really. Pecan had never been her favorite, either. 

Her gaze held his. Rafael’s mouth worked like he was savoring something, and pie wasn’t it. He wiggled almost imperceptibly in his seat.

“Maybe I need remedial lessons,” he said.

Olivia handed the fork back to him. Rising, she moved smoothly behind his chair and slid her hands onto his shoulders, bending to murmur at his ear.

“Finish your dessert, then.”


	23. "Masculine Energy"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stone overhears something he shouldn't...or should he? Rated M.

"Wouldn't go in there if I were you," says Fin, tapping a message on his phone.

It stops Stone in his tracks, fingers just shy of the lieutenant's office door. The blinds are drawn in the windows, which strikes him as odd, but Olivia might be speaking to one of her detectives in private. Disciplinary action, maybe. He glances at Fin, who's the only one at his desk.

"She in a meeting?"

Fin swivels in his chair. "You could say that."

Stone turns again, frowning, and that's when he hears it: the first low, smothered groan from within. He stares at the closed door, the shuttered blinds. Just when he thinks it must've been a trick of the ear, he hears it again.

It's the sound of someone trying to muffle eager need into upholstery. He'd know; he's heard it from women plenty of times. Provoked it. Never in this register, though, because this groan is a man's, which means Olivia's definitely in there with someone—and now there's not just groaning, but rhythmic creaking, the strains of a sofa being put to hard use—

"Oh God, Liv—"

"You like that?" says Olivia, mild and amused. "Like taking it for me?"

"I do," groans the other voice, and Stone knows it then, with a shocked drench of recognition, because he once heard those same words on the witness stand, months ago, from Rafael Barba's mouth. _"Fuck."_

A crisp _smack._ "Say it."

"I like, I like taking it. I love it when you make me, oh God—"

Stone spins away from the door. He manages not to stumble, but he can feel Fin's amusement behind him. When he turns, Fin's eyes are fixed studiously on his laptop, his expression unfazed. Stone strides toward him, toward the exit, away from the explicit noises that'll haunt his ears for the rest of the day. And night. He jerks his arm to point at Olivia's door. 

"That doesn't bother you? What, you like listening in?"

"Nah, man, I got earbuds," says Fin, and holds one up with a grin.

*

Craning her neck, Olivia lifts one of the blinds to peer out at the squad room.

"Is he gone?" asks Rafael.

Her phone buzzes on the desk: Fin on surveillance duty. She reads the text aloud.

"'Never knew a guy that white could turn that red. He forgot to leave a message.'"

Shaking her head, she texts a thumbs-up in reply, then moves to reopen the blinds. Rafael kicks back on the sofa, fully clothed and fully pleased with his performance. She can't deny that his bouncing on the couch had sounded damned convincing. 

"And now we know Peter Stone finds it plausible that you, of all people, would have noisy office sex. April Fools' Day must be rough." 

Olivia pockets her glasses. "Look, I know this was extreme, but ever since I let him have that coaching session with Noah, he keeps lurking around. Not to the point of harassment, he's just..."

"Slow on the uptake?"

She gives a charitable little shrug. "Not all of us went to Harvard."

"Or played for the Cubs," says Rafael, enjoying himself far too much. "I hear MLB updated its concussion protocols. One too many knocks to the head—"

"You're cruel."

"Says the mastermind of this little scheme." His mouth twitches. "It could backfire, you realize. Now that he knows you're a woman of many talents." 

She pitches his coat at him. "He doesn't strike me as a man who'd appreciate." _Unlike you,_ she doesn't have to say; Rafael hears it just fine. "Are we getting lunch, or no?"

"After a workout like that?" Rafael rolls to his feet, rocking on his heels. "Least you can do is buy me a drink."

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are treasured! 
> 
> You can find me at unicornmagic.tumblr.com


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